Stupid crap people say to me

07/23/2011

*Facebook - The girls are calling each other Soul Sisters instead of Step Sisters. I think it's just an excuse to hear Gabby sing HEY SOUL SISTER at the top of her lungs.

We have three nine-year-old girls. As of right now, the biggest problem we have with them is the ongoing argument called, “Who did it?” (“IT” could be anything…) Here’s the basic script of the argument:

1: Why did you do IT?

2: I didn’t do IT

3: Yes you did IT

1: And I’m gonna tell Mom/Jody/Dad/Bill

2: I DIDN’T!

3: Yes you did

2: Nuh-uh!

1: Yes –huh!

Yes-huh? Who invented this? And why is it that the number of syllables applied to the word “uh” is directly proportional to anger of the child talking whining? When I hear, “Nuh- uh-h-h-h-h-h” I run and hide in the pantry because I know someone is coming to get me soon. If the child delivering the multi-syllabic uh is also crying and/or throwing things, I’m always sure to grab the bottle of rum on my way to the pantry….I’m probably going to be in there for a while.

Apparently, our current 9-year-old issues are nothing compared to what we’re in for.

They look innocent, but actually they're plotting our demise...

I have the same conversation every time I meet someone new. First I tell the story of our family. It is a classic [divorced] Guy [with three kids] Meets [also divorced] Girl [with three kids]. “Oh! The Brady Bunch!” They exclaim. “How old are they?”

I reply, “The boys are 4 and 12, and the girls are 5, 9, 9 and 9.” “Wow,” they say, “three 9-year-old girls? Just you wait ‘til they are …” And this is where the story varies. Each person we meet has a different dangerous age we should be wary of, a different hellish story to go along with each number. In short, I’m pretty sure we’re in trouble for the next 20 years or so…

“Just you wait ‘til they’re all 11! You’ll be happy if they’re yelling at you because that’s the only time they’ll ever speak to you! Unless they need a ride to the mall…” Oh, that sounds fun. Can’t wait.

“Just you wait ‘till they’re all 12! Can you imagine when they all get their periods at the same time? You know girls in one family always synch up, right?” Bill is especially scared of this one because there is the someday potential for 5 women in his house to be bitching at him at the same time. I do actually feel pretty bad for him – maybe I’ll show him the pantry hiding spot.

“Just you wait ‘til they’re all 14 and they start high school! They’ll all want a car and they’ll have a million different activities they’ll want to go to!” All that AND an older brother who’s a senior…and has senior friends! Ahh! We’ll need some kind of screening process for the boys and some sort of tracking system for the car…

(Perhaps we should just put the girls in the pantry.)

“Just you wait ‘til they’re all 15 and they hate your guts! No matter what you say is wrong!” Fifteen sounds especially scary to me because I’m pretty sure that’s the age I was when my dad took my door off its hinges to keep me from slamming it.

Just wait 'til we're 15. This is what we'll look like every day.

“Just you wait ‘til they’re all 16 and you have to throw three Sweet Sixteen parties!” I like throwing a party as much as anything, but sixteen-year-olds seem pretty dramatic and I’m pretty sure it’s tacky to drink rum at your kids’ birthday…

“Just you wait ‘til they’re all 18 and all go to college at the same time!” We have a financial plan for this one. It’s called, “Winning the Lottery.” Plan B is called “Scholarships.” We’re pretty sure the girls could win scholarships for sports, academics and a beauty contest. We’ll let you try to figure out which one is which.

“Just you wait ‘til they’re in their twenties and you have to throw three weddings!”

Yikes! I’m starting to hyperventilate. If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the pantry until they’re all 25, graduated and married. I’m takin’ the rum. Don’t tell the kids where I am.

Surely these three lovely girls (on our wedding day) won't turn out to be THAT bad? I'll keep you posted.

06/25/2011

Remember how your mom told you, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all?” Well, folks, how about this one: If you see someone desperately trying to wrangle 6 kids covered in mud, chocolate or spaghetti sauce, running, screaming or pinching each other, and you don’t have anything helpful to say, Just.Shut.Up.

There are two sentences I have heard enough times in the past year to last a lifetime, so be warned.

1. Wow! You have your hands full!

If you say this to me, please be prepared to offer your own hands to assist me. I WILL be handing one of the children to you, and it’s either going to be the one who’s screaming or the one covered in something gross.

2. Are they ALL yours? (Choose a response):

-Yes, but you can have one. I get to pick.

-No. Just this one is mine. I don’t know why all those other ones keep following me around.

or

-Just.Shut.Up

Perhaps people are inclined to say these things to me because when my family goes out, we do not visit stores, restaurants and landmarks…we invade them. Waitresses cry, store owners cringe and hide valuables, security guards call for back up. I think I should have some sort of card I hand out to people after we descend on their establishment. "You just got...Blended." This was especially apparent on our day trip to Plymouth and Cape Cod last Tuesday. It started immediately and lasted all day…

Sorry Dunkin’ Donuts – we didn’t mean to change our mind thirty times, force a line to continue out the door, spill three frozen hot chocolates and somehow get jelly filling on the doorknobs to both bathrooms… You just got Blended.

Sorry Plymouth Rock Gift Shop – we promise to pay you back for the broken shot glass and I think at some point you’ll probably be able to find the correct location for all the stuffed animals, shells and magnets we moved.

Sorry Mayflower II Replica – we know you are a historical landmark and we understand why you were angry when we tried to climb out of the port holes and pull down the sails. We really just wanted to look down through the cracks in the deck at the water anyway. You just got Blended.

After we felt that Plymouth had been sufficiently Blended, we decided to take the kids to the beach. Since we were looking at the ocean, we didn’t think it would be that difficult. Bill and I used to do this thing where we would just drive until the GPS map turned blue and find a beach. We flew by the seat of our pants and didn’t worry about the outcome. This does not work with six kids. They want the beach NOW. They don’t like spending 2 hours in the car looking for the freakin’ beach because the GPS doesn’t understand what private roads or U-turns are. They are tired. And they need to eat. And they don’t wanna sit in this stinkin’ car anymore.

*Facebook – Bill and I and the six kids are currently lost in the middle of Cape Cod, inexplicably incapable of finding a beach. I think we just “Blended” ourselves.

Finally, I gave up trying to navigate or use any form of electronic assistance and told Bill to find the stinkin’ beach. He pulled over, asked directions and had us at a beach in 4 minutes. This is why I should not be in charge.

*Facebook - Hey Beach: You’re on notice. As we pulled in, one kid said, "Wow, it’s so quiet here!" And another said, "AHHHHHH! THE BEACH!"...You’re gonna get Blended.

The kids had a wonderful time at the beach and everything was fairly calm (other than the obvious water-fighting, crab-catching and seaweed-throwing), until Emily’s beach ball started blowing down the beach…and into the ocean. By the time anyone noticed, it was 50 yards out to sea. I apologized and told her it was too far to swim and we would have to get another one later. But before she could even form the tears, Bill came racing down the beach Baywatch-style and dove into the waves. He swam and swam and swam until he reached the ball, which was now an entire football field away from the shore. Then he tried desperately to catch it, apparently realizing that there was no way he could make it back without a floatation device. After reaching for and missing the drifting ball 10 times, he finally captured it. The kids watched and cheered… until they lost interested and ran back down the beach. As I chased after them, a man on the beach remarked, “So you’re just gonna leave him out there, are ya?” Sorry dude, I’ve got one parent half-drowning at sea and six kids trying to drown each other – this beach just got Blended.

That tiny dot off in the horizon is Bill...

As we packed our sandy, wet children into the cars, Bill asked a local man where would be a good place to take sandy, wet children to eat dinner. The man recommended a place in the cute little town on Main Street. In hindsight, we probably should not have trusted this man as a good resource. His two perfectly dressed children had stood next to him during our entire conversation without interrupting until the end when they politely said, “Excuse us, Papa, would it be all right if we went over to the sand, please? We promise not to go into the water until you join us.” Maybe his version of kid-friendly restaurant was not the same as ours. We were pretty much looking for a padded room filled with bouncy balls.

*Facebook- Ok-you vote. The children's menu at the Cape Cod restaurant we just walked into says: “For Well-Behaved Children..." Do we Blend them? Or cut them a break and go find a McDonalds?

As it turned out when we went back to the hostess to politely excuse ourselves, she informed us sweetly that the restaurant actually had two parts, a formal dinning room, and a tavern side with an arcade. Oh! That’s where we belong. Then we went on to have a wonderful dinner and would like to recommend that you try the Chatham Squire TAVERN (not dining room) if you ever end up on Cape Cod. (Unless, of course, you have Stepford Children, in which case head on over to the formal dining room.) By the way, if you can get Sara to be your waitress, even better – she sure understands how to handle a table-full of kids, and doesn't mind if you fling mash potatoes at her!

Exhausted and happy, we pulled back into Nana and Pop’s house around 11pm. And then decided to wake the kids up early the next morning and take them into the city. I know what you’re thinking – We have our hands full…and our brain’s empty!

*Facebook - Oh no! Nap time and we're in the middle of Boston! Sorry Guy-at-Fanueil-Hall-that's-wearing Levi's-soda...you just got Blended.

05/31/2011

*Facebook 6/28/11 - Somebody just shushed my kids. Lady, YOU try being one of six kids in line at the post office. Grrrr.

I love my children. I want to spend as much time as possible with them. I want to cherish every moment of their growing-up years. I want to lovingly tend to their every need at any time of the day.

But I don’t want to take them on errands. Or out anywhere, really.

It all comes down to the numbers:

Example 1 - Grocery Shopping:

-Time needed to do weekly grocery shopping alone: 1 hour.

-Time needed to do weekly grocery shopping with six kids: 2.5 hours, plus 30 minutes for the trip back to get the things I forgot because they were filling my brain with nonsensical noise.

-Total Amount spent when doing grocery shopping alone: $250

-Total Amount spent when doing grocery shopping with 6 kids: $350 ($50 for things they need that I didn’t think of, $25 for items they hide in the cart, and $25 extra added to the liquor budget because I’m going insane by the time I hit that aisle.)

-Number of times hearing the words, “But Mo-Om, I waaaant it!” when shopping with 6 kids: 198,874,209,782

-Number of times hearing those words when shopping alone: 0 (unless it is from someone else’s kid, in which case I can just switch aisles)

-Probability that the designer of the “impulse aisle” can actually see into my mind and has created said aisle using exact specifications of my worst nightmare: 75%

Example 2: Going to the Movies

-Cost of going to the movies without children: $60 (including the babysitter)

-Cost of going to the movies with children: $160 (not including the pina colada I will need afterward)

-Number of spilled beverages when going to the movies without children: 0

-Number of spilled beverages when going to the movies with children: 8, unless the people in front of us aren’t watching closely enough, then 10

-Number of movie minutes lost to go to the bathroom when going to the movies alone: 0

-Number of movie minutes lost to go to the bathroom when going to the movies with 6 kids: 97

Example 3: The Mall

-Number of minutes in Bath and Body Works when shopping alone: as many as I want

-Number of minutes in Bath and Body Works when shopping with 6 kids: about 2 before they break something. (sidebar: Number of dollars spent on broken Bath and Body Works items while shopping with kids: $39)

-Number of minutes in Claire’s when shopping with 6 kids: 9 million

-Number of minutes in Claire’s when shopping alone: 0!

-Number of quarters in arcade games when shopping with 6 kids: 24

-Number of quarters in arcade games when shopping alone: 0

(-Number of quarters in arcade games when shopping with Bill: 10)

Example 4: Going Out to Dinner

- Percentage chance that we will end up in a restaurant where someone is wearing a tie when we go out to dinner alone: 30%

- Percentage chance that we will end up in a restaurant where someone is wearing a tie when we go out to dinner with 6 kids: 0%

-Percentage chance that, when going out to dinner with 6 kids, we will end up in a restaurant where someone is wearing Levi’s dinner: 65%

Example 5: The Bank Drive Through

-Number of “ooh cool”s when the bank drive-through sucks up the container when I am alone in the car: 0

-Number of “ooh cool”s when the bank drive thru sucks up the container when all 6 kids are the car: 7 (Okay, I admit it. Sometimes when they are around everything seems more exciting.)

-Percentage chance that when all 6 kids are in the car I will get the math right: 3%

-Percentage chance that I will get all the math right even if they’re not in the car: 4% (Who are we kidding?)

-Number of lollipop wrappers on the floor of my car when I get home after taking all 6 kids through the bank drive-through: 6

-Number of lollipop wrappers on the floor of my car when I get home after going to the bank drive-through alone: 0

-Percentage chance that my floor is so covered with other things they’ve left behind I wouldn’t notice anyway: 100%

Okay fine, that one is a wash. They can still come with me to the bank.

Summary

-Average number of errands I run each day: 4

-Probability that at least one errand each day will be for milk: 100%

-Number of times per week I wake up in the middle of the night from errand-related nightmares: 3

-Likelihood that Bill will buy me one of those tiny little electric cars so that it is just impossible for me to take anyone with me when I go on errands: 0%.

-Likelihood that Bill will allow me to hire a live-in nanny to stay with the children while I run errands: 0%

-Likelihood that I will stop asking Bill for both of the above: 0%.

*Facebook 5/18/11 - Going to the grocery store for the 93rd time this week since no one in my house can get it together to tell me we're RUNNING OUT of something - only MOM! IT'S ALL GONE AND I NEED IT NOW! I may drive past the store and go straight to Vegas.

04/28/2011

Welcome to the Special Holiday Edition of Blended! That means 4 posts in 4 days! Two regular posts: Wednesday and Saturday, and two special holiday posts: Easter today, and Passover tomorrow. Clearly, soccer season hasn't started yet. Happy Reading...

*Facebook 4/13/11 - In our house, the Easter Bunny comes a week early and brunch is at 9am.

We are not above moving holidays to suit our schedule. Last year we had Thanksgiving on the second Thursday instead of the third. We often celebrate birthdays early, late, several times…whatever works for us. First we find a weekend when all six kids will be home. Then we pick a day that doesn’t have any baseball, soccer, volleyball, basketball, archery or Girl Scout events. Then we wait to see if everyone is healthy with all bones intact. Then we check the weather to be sure that no snow storms, hail or flooding would impede our festivities. At that point, when we feel fairly certain that a day will work, we make sure it is within 6 weeks of the actual event we’re trying to celebrate and then write it on the calendar. In pencil.

When we realized that we had all six kids and no sporting events the weekend before Easter this year, we figured we had a good chance of success. As the date approached, we had no broken limbs and only one kid had strep. (Why do we always have strep?) The impending snowstorm that was forecast would move our egg hunt indoors, but it seemed that we would be looking at snow until July, so that didn’t sway us. The biggest selling point: celebrating Easter a week early meant not having to search for Kosher-for-Passover Easter Candy. Done.

Bill and I bought most of the Easter section at the store. The customer behind us in line questioned whether we were running a daycare or some sort of event. This was not the first time I’ve been asked this question in line at the grocery store, so I replied, “No, we just REALLY like jelly beans.”

After arriving home the day before our Easter and sneaking the Easter Bunny-loot upstairs, I sent Bill to the store to buy the egg-coloring supplies we had forgotten. As a non-egg-coloring-Jew, I was new to this activity and couldn’t understand why he had come home with a huge tarp-like plastic tablecloth in addition to the dye, egg dippers and cups. I learned quickly.

I read the directions for egg-coloring:

1. Fill the plastic cup with water and vinegar.

2. Add the dye tab and stir.

3. Gently dip your hard-boiled egg into the water using the egg dipper.

4. Wait patiently.

5. Gently lift the egg out and carefully place it someplace safe to dry.

Dye? Gently? Patiently? I felt concerned.

Brianna, the egg-coloring expert was excited to initiate my children into the egg-coloring club. Together, they dipped and dyed and even managed to create some multi-colored eggs. They were gentle, patient and careful. Bill worked with Levi and managed to keep things fairly neat and create some fun looking eggs. I was in charge of Gabby. Who dyes eggs with her hands. And spills. And doesn’t understand “patient” or “gentle.”

Thanks for the tarp, Bill.

Coloring eggs. Yup, those are Shabbat candles in the background

Immediately following the egg-coloring came the egg-eating portion of our holiday. My kids had never loved hard-boiled eggs before, but somehow the fact that they were decorated made them exciting. They were very disappointed, however, to discover that inside the fancy colored shell, there was a plain old boring white egg. They devoured eggs until I cut them off for fear of stomach aches. Our table was covered with shells and also yolks, (collectively deemed disgusting and uneatable).

In the morning, the kids engaged their traditional Holiday Morning Routine: waking each other up at 6am and then screaming and running around the house until we stumble out of bed.

I I don’t wanna hear another peep outta you.

By the time we got downstairs, the kids were halfway through their candy-filled Easter baskets, and were joyfully watching the dogs find (and eat) all of the plastic Easter eggs we had hidden throughout the house. We kenneled the dogs, and sent the kids running through the house to find what was left of the hidden eggs.

As the kids worked off their sugar-highs by jumping on the beds, we made brunch. If you wake up at 6 am, then 9am really IS halfway between breakfast and lunch, so we just rolled with it. Since it was our first Easter together we decided we could invent our own traditional feast. So, we ate mini pigs in blankets, deviled eggs (called double eggs by everyone under 10 in this house and served on my grandmother’s special egg plate), popcorn chicken, cupcakes, cinnamon rolls…and bagels with cream cheese. I know, I know, we are celebrating Easter here, but for the Jewish people, in my family anyway, brunch = bagels. Besides, around here we just make what we think they will eat.

So our first family Easter was a success. Here’s to flexibility, the dogs’ stomachs tolerating all the candy, starting new traditions, Spring (someday soon we hope) and a husband who understands the appropriate time and place for tarp-like table coverings.